Musings, silliness and the occasional deep thought from a knitter, musician, writer and non-profit sector lifer on the Canadian prairie.

Sunday, August 16, 2009

L'Homage a L'Harlot, L'Histoire & L'Homecoming

I love the Yarn Harlot. (Go read her blog if you haven't before. She's a goddess. I have all her books. She, as my sister would say, makes me happy in my heart. Go read. I'll be here when you get back.)

Friday night, the month-of-traveling-goofily came to an end, and, tidily enough, the socks that I cast on as travel knitting as the airplane took off for trip #1 (Vegas, June 28), were in my bag, finished, grafted, waiting for blocking.
These socks were knit in six different cities (Las Vegas, Winnipeg, Boston, Toronto, Ottawa & Stratford). Most of the stitches were knit on airplanes, and - oddly - were only commented on once, by six rowdy civil servants on their way home from Churchill in a lame attempt to chat me up. (This flummoxed me so much that I screwed up the last few rows of the foot chart and had to rip back...but made me doubly grateful to the genius who invented the iPod, so we'll call it a draw. A hint, guys? If you're loudly discussing the relative "hotness" of the various flight attendants, and comparing your various "clever" methods of picking up the various locals in the various places you've been on this trip, it's pretty obvious you're not actually interested in my knitting, which is why I put in my headphones at the earliest opportunity. Just sayin', sound travels.)

The sock was my traveling companion through all of these trips, and functioned at various times as representative of excitement, passer of time, weirdness-magnet/slimeball repellant (see above), safe harbour from omnipresent newness-related anxiety, and, inspired by the Yarn Harlot, star of my touristy photos (I hope she doesn't mind the homage).

The sock visited Meech Lake, and enjoyed the beach, the sun, the history and the people watching.
It thought the Rideau Canal was pretty cool...
And, while it couldn't have its picture taken inside, still enjoyed the National Gallery quite a bit, even if the spider kind of gave it the willies. (At least it wasn't a moth.)The sock surprised itself by how unbelievably patriotic it felt at Parliament...
...and wondered how a place so dignified could be the workplace of people who regularly exhibit behaviour that is decidedly not.

It saw the bluest water it's ever seen at Lake Huron:
...before having its toe grafted as a fish freshly caught from this very lake was on the barbecue.

The trips were wonderful. Seeing my siblings was food for my soul, learning what I did in Boston was a double espresso for my brain, and Las Vegas was a much-deserved, sequined, neon technicolor birthday cake of a celebration for the Love of my Life. The memories of the six weeks - airport lounges, slot machines, 112 degrees Farenheit, lobster, health care debates, more airport lounges, three books, patriotism, art, Shakespeare, Canadian history and family - are knit into this pair and, while I told myself all along that I was getting an early jump on Christmas knitting, I think they're going to stay here with me.
Because these socks and I had many adventures together. And we are very, very glad to be home.

Hello, My Name is...

I'm an adult-onset knitter, classical-pianist turned Celtic-rock accordion-player, and sporadic but passionate writer with a really awesome day job in the not-for-profit sector that has little to do with any of the above (but is still awesome). I drink too much coffee, knit on the bus, yell at the tv during football games, am addicted to several podcasts, bake my own bread, listen to audiobooks, and try not to get schmucked by minivans on my bike.